


Watch Me Fall Apart

by palelipsxslitwrists



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, Anxiety, Bad Boy Harry, Bad Boys, Cutting, Depression, Drinking, Drug Use, Eating Disorders, F/M, Fanfiction, Fluff, Love Triangles, M/M, Multi, Piercings, Profanity, Punk Harry, Self Harm, Sexual Content, Shipping, Smoking, Sub Louis, Tattoos, Triggers, Underage Drinking, Violence, Weed, mature - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-10-05
Updated: 2014-01-12
Packaged: 2017-12-27 10:04:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence, No Archive Warnings Apply, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,188
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/977472
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/palelipsxslitwrists/pseuds/palelipsxslitwrists
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry's love was like poison to Louis.<br/>Hurtful, but so entirely addicting.<br/>And Louis was to Harry, a representation of everything he could never have.<br/>So when a hurricane meets land, all hell breaks loose.<br/>And that's what Louis can compare to meeting Harry Styles.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Dreams in Which I'm Dying are the Best I've Ever Had

**Author's Note:**

> a little teaser idk it's really short i just wanted to give you a sense of Louis in this fic so yeah, read on :)

Louis' POV

 

Life was cruel.

Not so in a way that would make Louis want to stop living, but just enough that he didn't want to wake up. He was a night owl, and UNI classes at 7 AM was the last place Louis wanted to be as he dressed, slowly, his headache booming.  _No more drinking on sundays._

Well, maybe that thought would last until this next sunday, when Niall would convince him to go out, and Louis would drink just a little too much sweet tea vodka, while Niall's laugh would sound loudly in his ear. But Louis loved the lad, he'd saved his arse more than a few times, so a headache wouldn't do him over for long.

But maybe his history class would.

As Louis tried, but failed miserably, to pay any attention at all to the lesson going on in front of him, he couldn't help but wish he was out in the park a few blocks down, snapping pictures of his favourite apartments and catching glimpses of passing strangers in his prints. Because Louis loved the rain, and the way it drained the colour of the simplest things.

Instead, he was cooped up inside, learning the history of a country he didn't belong to, and the names of people he would never remember. And he couldn't help but think just how pointless it was, how pointless everything was. Because Louis didn't matter, he wouldn't invent the cure for cancer, or be remembered for some miraculous feat. He was Louis Tomlinson, mediocre at best, and that was all he would ever be. Which was okay, I guess, because he got to meet people and make friends and experience things and he was different than anybody else. There was no other 'Louis Tomlinson' in this history class, living on his street in New York aspiring to be a photographer.

But he wanted to be remembered. Because even though nothing ever lasts, and his name would eventually be forgotten, Louis wanted to  _be_ somebody. He wanted to be better than just different, he wanted to be unique and he wanted to be spectacular. But he was none of that and as much as he  _wanted_ Louis knew he would never _be_.

Whether he went to his History lesson or not, Louis would die just as well as everybody else, he could drink on a Tuesday and the next morning still get up and go to classes. He wouldn't leave a footprint, because Louis was just one person in a sea of faces. He wasn't famous, or a model. He wasn't even who he  _wanted_ to be. He was just  _there_ and that was what he would always be.

\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

"For _fuck's_ sake!" Were the first words that flew out of Louis' mouth once he'd finished his classes for the day, his head swimming... at least his headache had come and gone.

Louis didn't swear all that much, but he  _was_ late for three out of four classes, his hair was a mess, he had tea all down the front of his trousers, and he had made it outside in time to see the public transit leaving the station just across the way, which was barely visible due to the curtain of rain that seemed to embrace the busy street. So, Louis was allowed to swear. And as he pulled his hood over his head, he may have sworn just a _few_ more times. 

But only a few.

It wasn't that he hated walking, or rain or even New York, because Louis just didn't  _hate._ He didn't particularily like walking, and he did quite love the rain, and maybe New York wasn't home yet, but Louis knew it could just as well be, it was just that Louis was having a shit day, and he couldn't wrap his head around why it had to be  _him._  

Though he had pulled his hood up over his head, it made no difference. Without an umbrella - or a raincoat for that matter, Louis was soaked to the bone within minutes, and he pushed his now dripping fringe from off of his forehead, trying to tuck it in to his sweater.

He had fifteen minutes to get to work, serving  _Pumpkin Spice Lattes_ and  _Vanilla Bean Frappaccinos with Two Pumps of Raspberry._ On a day like today, the line would be endless, and he would be scrawling white-girl names all over the cups of steaming coffee, probably even a few numbers. Because he may be mediocre but he had a nice arse and a bright personality, and people were just naturally attracted to him, even if he didn't know it, or really understand it for that matter.

But Louis was gay, and that wasn't something he advertised freely, so he had more girls' numbers in his phone than he cared to count. Most of them he'd recieved from 'hipster' girls, with their lovely cardigans and too-big glasses, all in line to get their daily caffeine fix, and he knew he'd be approached by several dozen more during this shift.

Working wasn't so bad, when the crowd was thin, and the customers friendly. Louis could pop in an earbud, play 'The Script', maybe crack a few jokes with his co-workers and watch while the sun streaked the sky with red as it set behind the city. Those were good days. Days with friends and drinks and yeah some UNI classes, but Louis was okay with that as long as he could get his master's degree and get a good paying job, which he'd dreamed of in photography. A silly dream, Louis knew, but the camera bag that hung from his shoulder was familiar and comforting and he wished he could see through the damn rain but apparently that was made for another day.

As Louis saw the green ' _Starbucks_ ' sign appraching, he sighed, pulling his hood farther over his face and his camera bag just a little bit higher on his shoulder. Because -

"You're late, and you're closing tonight." Perrie Edwards, Lous' bored-looking co-worker said as he made his way inside, removing his jumper and replacing it with a disgustingly coloured, green apron.

"Well, miss punctual, be glad my idea of 'closing' is nothing like yours." Louis smirked, knowing she wouldn't catch the innuendo.

And she didn't, she just scoffed, shaking her head and shooting him a smile before grabbing her umbrella and leaving.

_Only eight hours left._

\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

And eight long hours later, Louis found himself jumping with joy (or something close to it anyways), as he finally set the last chair up on the tables and locked the door, glad to see that the rain had slowed to a drizzle.

It was just after midnight, and it wasn't Louis' first time walking home but he was tired and incredibly grumpy because he really needed a fucking  _car._ And he may have just sworn for the twentieth time that day but it made no difference because he still had to walk and he still had to  go to UNI in the morning. And sometimes he wondered why he even bothered, truly there was something better out there than whatever he was doing with his life. 

 _Sleep. Eat. UNI. Work._   _Eat._ And sometimes, on weekends  _Drink._

So you could safely say that Louis was predictable, and a slight bit antisocial.

And just maybe, he was lost.

But y'know, he wasn't sure yet.

 

 

 

 


	2. Let Me Hold Both Your Hands in The Holes of My Sweater.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry hated rain, and people and really just life in general... So why couldn't he bring himself to hate the British lad attempting to talk him off a ledge?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> if you don't know what the chapter title is from you don't know what music is or 8tracks, in which case you should look at mine, my user is johngreenandpizza.

Harry's POV

 

It was raining. Not the kind of drizzle that made the city smell a little but less like trash, it was the kind of downpour that made the trash float right to your front lawn, and Harry _hated_ it. Hated how cold it was, hated the tap tap tap it made as it hit the tin roof beside him. If he was completely honest, Harry hated many things.

 

Like the city, and half of the people in it. 

 

If anybody were to look up - which they wouldn't, unless they wanted a mouthful of foul rainwater - they would be able to see him, perched on the ledge of one of the higher floors on his apartment building. It wasn't a strange thing for Harry to do, he appreciated heights, the way they made you feel almost invincible, watching all the people no bigger than insects stroll by with their umbrellas held firmly to keep from blowing away.

 

He was comfortable, with his guitar beside him, though he had no intention of playing it. It was just that he thought better when he was up here. As if the wind was filled with ideas that Harry could reach out and grab freely, though he was too much of a realist to actually believe that. The thought had occurred to him, more than once, how easily he could inch himself just a little bit too far forward, or how easy it would be to step off the ledge, to just keep walking until there was nothing left to step on.

 

He thought about dying quite a lot, if he was being _entirely_ honest, which he wasn't, more often than not. He reveled in the way he could watch the blood form intricate designs on his pale skin, the rush he got from it was incomparable; even now he longed to feel it, the flash of pain, as his blades would pour from him everything he kept bottled up.

 

Harry shivered, half from the cold, and half from the anticipation of release.

 

He slid back in to his apartment, through the window and onto his bed. It was still unmade, as it usually was, and his whole room smelled of cigarettes and liquor.

 

Harry ignored the mess, and instead made his way down to the second floor, still dripping with rainwater and dirt from the roof. He knew Zayn wouldn't be home, he rarely ever was. The brooding art student was no better off than Harry, really when it came down to it. Zayn's room looked as if it'd been torn apart in a hurricane, pencils and little bits of charcoal were everywhere, and sketches, torn from their sketchbooks, were stacked precariously on every surface that wasn't the bed, which seemed to have gotten a good use the night before. But Harry wasn't there to clean or even admire the grand clutter, he picked his way through until he found a half full pack of smokes, with the lighter still inside and went back to his earlier position, this time much closer to the steady stream of people that made up the park below.

 

Harry lit the smoke, inhaling and letting the smoke sit in his lungs. You could have easily looked up to see him there, standing on the outer edge of Zayn's railing, held there by one arm wrapped backwards around the balcony. To anybody it probably would have looked as if he were going to jump, and that was the part Harry was always uncertain of, _would_ he jump? It always surprised him when he didn't, as if he'd made the decision but had never gotten around to it.

 

Through the now slightly-less-thick sheet of rain, Harry could see one boy with messy caramel hair standing in the middle of the large crowd, and they parted around him, like rapids around a rock. He could see the boy's look of confusion, the feeling of **_oh shit_**  every newcomer got when they came to the big city. He was lost.

 

As if thinking about him somehow drew him towards Harry, the boy looked up, and his look of confusion turned suddenly into one of terror. The rain had started to really let up, and it was now just the occasional few drops obscuring Harry's vision, which made it a lot easier to see the boy almost-running ( _something between a jog and a run that wasn't exactly a sprint_ ) towards the ground below Harry.

 

"Hey, get down from there, are you fucking _crazy_ or something?" His voice was sweet, high-pitched but not so in a way that made Harry want to drag his nails on a chalk board. He liked it, though he ignored the 'crazy' remark as he wasn't quite sure if he was _normal-person-crazy_ , or, _wow-i-need-psychiatric-help-crazy_ , but either way the boy didn't need to know.

 

“Maybe I am, what's it to you?” Harry's voice rang out a bit louder than he'd intended, and a few people were looking at him suspiciously, as if deciding whether or not to dial emergency services, but the boy below him had disappeared, and Harry was left to wonder if he'd even been there in the first place. After all, he was remotely crazy -

 

“I think it would be best if you stepped to the other die of the railing, don't you say?” Caramel-boy said, startling Harry a bit, nearly causing him to slip, and he would have, if two leanly muscled arms hadn't grabbed him. 

 

“Umm, listen mate I don't mean to offend you or anything but you're not doing me or the world a favour." Harry was now back to his perch, body twisted slightly to get a good look at his... _saviour_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah i haven't uploaded in a year, if I'm entirely honest and I will be uploading new chapters a lot more often than that I promise I'm so sorry guys, thank you for your kudos, remember to comment please (:

**Author's Note:**

> if you've any suggestions or commentary, just leave me a comment... constructive criticism is welcome as well, thanks lovelies x


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